


lunch with a widow

by androgynousmikewheeler



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Myra Kaspbrak Defense Club, Post-Canon, fucked up marriage though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgynousmikewheeler/pseuds/androgynousmikewheeler
Summary: Myra asks Richie to have lunch with her. He can't manage to say no.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Myra Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier
Kudos: 7





	lunch with a widow

Richie's phone rings, interrupting the television marathon he was dutifully ignoring. He groans and picks it up.

"Funky fresh greetings," he says, the facade turning on almost subconsciously, "what can I do you for?"

A timid voice on the other side says, "Hello, um, is this Richard Tozier?"

Richie doesn't recognize the caller. His brow falls and his speech slows. "That very Trashmouth. Who is this?"

"Um," the woman clears her throat, as if banishing a sob, "this is Myra Kaspbrak. I think you knew my husband."

Richie's stomach plummets, the weight of a dead man pulling at him. "Yeah," he whispers, "I did."

Her speech is high and rehearsed. "Mr. Tozier, I'm in Chicago for the next week on business. Could I meet you for lunch?"

"Why?" Richie breathes.

She sniffles, voice breaking. "I just wanna talk to someone who knew my husband." Holding back sobs, she adds, "Because I don't think I really did."

He may want nothing less, but he can't seem to say no. "Lunch sounds good."

* * *

Richie arrives at the restaurant a shocking three minutes early. His poor manager would likely call such promptness nothing short of a miracle.

He greets the hostess, and then stumbles over, "Table of two for... for Kaspbrak." The name burns at his throat.

She nods and leads him towards a small table where a woman sits, scanning the room. She looks simultaneously very little and very much like Sonia Kaspbrak, one of the many terrors of Richie's young life. She can only be Myra.

As he approaches, she waves, a wan smile on her round face. He pastes something vaguely resembling a smile on his own face as he sits down across from her.

"Mr. Tozier?" she inquires, her voice just as high and uncertain as it had sounded over the phone.

He slides into his comedian sleaze. "Please, Mr. Tozier was my father's name. Call me Trashmouth."

She doesn't smile. "I'd rather not."

He grimaces, discarding the character. "Sorry. Richie's fine. Can I call you Myra?"

"If you'd like."

He nods. The table drifts into awkward silence, each of them intently studying their menu. Richie sneaks the occasional glance over the various entrees at Myra. When she does the same, they both shy away like embarrassed teenagers.

By the time the waiter comes to take their orders, the words deep in his throat are choking him, stupid jokes and inappropriate truths and the horror of holding this poor woman's husband as he died.

He orders a steak. As she orders, he tries to collect his thoughts into something resembling sense.

When the waiter walks off, he says, "Myra, Eddie–"

"Please," she interrupts, "don't try to tell me my husband loved me."

He balks. "What?"

She shrugs, a haunting acceptance in her eyes. "I know perfectly well how much he hated me."

"Oh," Richie breathes, "you do?"

"I know I'm not too bright, but I'm not a fool. Please don't treat me like one."

Richie is silent. He's been like that a lot more since... well, since Eddie.

"I know that I whine and I nag and I cry and I know how much he hated it. I don't think he ever liked me and I have no idea why he married me." Tears well in her eyes and she clenches a hand over her mouth as if to catch her sobs. "See?" she moans, voice high and pitchy, "I'm pathetic. I'm completely pathetic."

"Oh, believe me, if you want to see pathetic, you should see my sex life."

She blinks at him, bewildered. Then she lets out a single shocked laugh. "What?"

He shrugs. "It's really sad, I don't know what to tell you."

"I tell you my dead husband hated me and you make a sex joke?"

Richie reels back, the familiar guilt of a crossed line. "Sorry, I'm not good with timing."

To his complete surprise, she breaks into a fit of giggles. Full out, gasping for air, body shaking giggles. "No shit," she breathes between laughs.

Richie gawks at her. "Come on, that was the opposite of funny. I _can_ be funny, but that wasn't it."

Myra ignores him, too caught up in her laughter. When it finally subsides into a few stray hiccups, she says, "Eddie must have given you hell."

Richie grins. "About as much as I gave him. I told terrible jokes, he told me they were terrible, he laughed anyway, the cycle continued." His smile softens into loving reminiscence. "Bravest kid I've ever met."

"I wish I could've known him then."

"I wish I knew him now."

They lull into quiet again, Myra sniffling, Richie mourning the man Eddie became, the one he never really got the chance to know.

"He saved my life," he blurts.

Myra laughs. _"My_ Eddie?"

"You are Myra Kaspbrak, right? I'm at the right table?"

She rolls her eyes. "You and I saw very different sides of him."

"Oh, I saw a weird neurotic little man too. Just a brave one."

She leans in, whispering. "He loved you, I think, if he was willing to die for you."

"He's one of the best friends I ever had. I loved him too."

"Too little, too late, I guess. I don't think he ever knew how he was loved." She sighs. "But I did love him."


End file.
